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Vampirette

Blood-rosy lips,
Teeth ivory, sharp
Not like a knife,
But like a diamond-pointed spear.
Vampirette, grin gleaming,
Drinking the blood of night.
Only 18, but stalking
In a short dress that matches
Her crimson pout.
Shredded stockings, ragged breath,
Bumming cigs from the boys.
Giggling, running claws
Through tangled, ebony hair.
Her skin, scarred from sleepless nights
So pale, because she buries herself
In the dirt during daylight.
She shines on the outside, smiles, laughs twirls,
but inside, her organs twist themselves in knots.
Maneater! They cry
As she walks by,
Stiletto heels clicking on
The skulls of the men she has devoured.
Each time taking a memento,
A scrape, a stray moan,
A bruise between shoulder blades
Which protrude like cliffs
From her starving frame,
Preferring to drink blood
Rather than eat like a real girl.
Men can’t chain her, she always escapes,
Evaporating like smoke at the first signs of day.
Nobody knew her name, Succubus,
Living fast for a thrill,
Always looking for a way out.

But in the morning, black morning,
Onlookers mourning inside from behind
Pale hands covering slack-jawed mouths.
They saw not a monster, but
A withered girl, a human girl, used and crumpled.
A girl, nameless, homeless, rootless,
Taken away in a bag.
No flowers to hold, no goodbyes,
Starved on street that called her maneater
But all she wanted was
To survive.
Living on a racing heart, cigarette smoke,
And the next crude caress from
A faceless boy, who promised her the world,
But only gave her a handful of change
And a bruise.



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